Loss
by Furofushi
Summary: Orochimaru, a young child, is waiting for his parents to return. What he gets is completely different. A young Orochimaru fic.


**Authors Notes:**Hello! Sorry I haven't actually updated any of my main stories. Writers block... Basically this one-shot drabble thing is the result of re-reading the Orochimaru/Sasuke fight in shippuden. That flashback scene of Orochimaru as a child just really showed what might have happened to Orochimaru to make him the way he is today. It was also one of the sadder parts of the manga. I wish they would have shown more, but alas, Orochimaru is just one of those characters we're probably just never going to know much about. I've also just never been very good with angst and I decided I might as well try to practice while I still had the idea in my head.

**Warning:**Characters not mine. Naruto belongs to Kishimoto. Trust me, if I owned it there would be less Sasuke, and more yaoi and Orochimaru. XD Oh, and this story is angst. Meaning it's supposed to be sad.

The normally crystal clear skies of the leaf village were heavily clouded. The thick gray overpowered the sun so that, even though it was noon, the village seemed to be cloaked in darkness. Water droplets poured from the skies with such passion and furious energy it seemed as though heaven itself was weeping for the cursed souls of the mortal world... and what was doomed to come.

A small boy, around the age of six or seven, sat in his rather large, rather empty home. His parents were to return from a strenuous mission on this day. At the moment he sat next to the large window of his own bedroom, bright golden eyes peering out into the storm, waiting for the arrival of those he had missed so much for so long a time. His rather long black hair hung in front of his face and along his back, making his pale skin stand out that much more. Legs folded underneath him, his hands gripped onto his knees, a habit of anticipation.

Soon he saw two figures headed through the violent storm toward his home. Finally! The family he had so desperately missed for the past month and a half was finally back from the war. No more baby-sitters that cared for him not, that despised his very existence. He would finally be with the people that meant the world to him. Mother and father.

The smile that had formed across his face soon dropped, though. These figured were definitely shinobi, but none familiar. He had never before seen the two before. Utter joyous rejoicing had turned to heart clenching fear in a single devastating moment. He had been raised in a time of war, a time of death. He knew what messenger ninja at your door meant when a loved one was off to battle.

As the doorbell rang down the stairs he could feel his heart beat pick up, adrenaline rushing through his system. As he walked out of his room and down the hall, his mind went into denial, groping desperately for some other reason for the appearance of messenger shinobi. Maybe his parents were simply injured and waiting for him in the local hospital, healing and soon to be perfectly well. Perhaps they had been needed for a few more days on the battle field. Maybe...

As he walked down the large, menacing staircase the truth finally started to sink in. They wouldn't keep two ninja with a small boy living alone at home longer to fight, they would have simply called upon another shinobi of the village to fill their place. His parents, even if they had been injured, would have come rushing home with a smile.

By the time he had reached his front door, all hope was gone. His normally bright, childishly joyful face resembled stone, hard and expressionless, the unusual white pallor of his skin adding to the effect. Reaching out and taking hold of the cool metal handle, he pulled the door open to reveal two shinobi he had never before seen, soaked to the bone and dripping with rain.

Upon seeing just how young this boy truly was the younger of the two shinobi let out a gasp, knowing all to well what was coming. The still rather small boy could already tell just from looking upon these shinobi's faces that his creeping suspicion had been correct. The older shinobi, probably used to delivering such heinous messages, simply looked down upon the child and spoke with a voice drained of all emotion, having seen far too much death to even feel anymore.

"I'm sorry, Orochimaru. Both your mother and father were killed in the line of duty."

Those words, although long anticipated, hit like a death blow to the heart. They set in stone all those hideous fears, the worst of nightmares a young child could ever have.

They were gone. The only two people in the world to truly love and care for him, the two souls he would have given his own life for... They were gone. They were gone, and they were never coming back...

The two shinobi walked off, the younger of the two men sending an unseen look of sympathy back at the young boy who had just had his entire world crumble around him.

Long black locks of hair hung limply, shrouding Orochimaru's far too young face from view. He stepped into the rain, walking down the narrow gravel path through his front yard, and latched up the front gate in an almost robotic manner.

The constant rain started to grow steadily harsher, so thick seeing a few feet in front of you was near impossible. He remained were he was, his hand still resting on the latch of the gate. He cared not for the harsh rain, the tears of the heavens. All it did was add to his shroud, blocking out the world around him. Blurring reality.

Nobody who might happen to see him standing out in the center of the violent winds and water droplets would notice the thick tears streaming down his face, the unbearable misery that had just become all he had left.


End file.
